A small crowd begins to gather for the evening’s opening act, Airport Dad, whose guitarist empathetically acknowledges that it’s “really f*cking cold in here” and is met with nods of appreciation. A tight performance follows, with strong, droning vocals backed by astute and varied pedal operation on lead guitar which characterises the dynamic space with the stabbing rhythms of a sliding tremolo effect. Then comes Autumn Of Nothing, representing the university’s record label; a six-stringed bass holds it down for gentle lead vocals that are probably softer than these four walls are typically accustomed to. On such a close stage, a microphone is almost unnecessary; you can hear the band’s remarks to each other between songs as though they were standing right next to you in the crowd.
Finally, it’s time for the main event. As the headline act takes the stage, the last few ticket holders file into the tight space, and it eventually begins to warm up a little. Crammed in shoulder to shoulder at a maximum capacity of eighty heads, it’s difficult to escape the supposition that perhaps Junk have underestimated themselves; tickets sold out well before the actual gig (despite having had to compete with the Music Culture Society gig unfolding downstairs), such to the extent that if you stood at knee-level you’d undoubtedly be seeing ‘denim in copious amounts’. Humility, however, is a virtue, and before anyone can continue wondering whether Junk should be playing a bigger venue, a loud cry of “One, Two, Three, Four!” launches Junk’s opening track, ‘headache’, with an unfixed and inclining tempo.
Applause erupts before the final note has time to die. The obligatory thank-you-for-comings ensue, and there’s a unified groan of approval as they commence the soft, arpeggiated intro to ‘trousers’. Underneath heavy layers of reverb, the two guitar parts seem to blend into one, culminating in a memorable and dynamic chorus that hinges on an unconventional expression of intimate affection (“I wanna wear your trousers / I wanna wear your t-shirt too”). The bulk of the set is strong, from the tongue-in-cheek appraisal of the 21st century man’s fitness goals in ‘gymbro’ to the excellently reimagined cover of 10cc’s ‘I’m Not In Love’. ‘nothingspace’ is a highlight, as Verlaine-esque lead guitar punctures the sonic space with a riff akin to Television’s ‘friction’, dwindling on the edge of the song’s key without ever passing out of bounds. A seamless transition into ‘whatever you want’ is executed with a modulation-infused guitar lick as the throughline between songs, and quivering vibrato on lead vocals lends the performance a sense of vulnerability that’s elevated by spacious, sensitive harmonies.
The declaration of the final song of the night invites sarcastically appreciative booing from a satisfied crowd. Thankfully for them, however, Junk return to the stage in response to the demands for “one more song,” its members being individually reintroduced, each to a reception of thunderous applause. We’re treated to a new track; cymbals are crashed more intensely than the calmness of the crowd is used to, while brief dabbling in half-time keeps the audience on its toes as the set reaches its climactic finish. If anything, this unnamed closer leaves people most excited by what’s yet to come for Junk. There’s really only one conclusion worth drawing from the evening: if this band somehow ends up in your junkmail, you need to rewire your inbox.
